Page 81 of My Husband Problem

“And your front door,” Nora says. “And they’re doing something in your backyard.”

Sutton nods, turning the phone again and showing me a photo of more guys out behind my house, working on my fence.

“And,” Nora starts, but I know what she’s going to say even before she fills in, “Your porch.”

Sutton looks at me with wide eyes.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask Sutton.

“Because…” She glances at Nora.

Nora just shrugs. “Everyone knows your porch is a disaster. Andeveryonewants it fixed up. The town took up a collection.”

“What?” I look back and forth between them. “Why does everyone suddenly care about my porch so much?”

“Oh, it was months ago. Before your hot, rich husband came to town and started handing out money.” Nora grins. Then shrugs. “It’s overgrown and falling apart. I mean, the yard in front of the porch is overgrown, so it’s hard to see but people know.”

“It’slush. And the plants are native.” I assume they’re native. I actually don’t know. “It’s really pretty and green and…natural.” The big fern-looking things and flowering bushy things are kind of nice. I think.

“It’s green,” Nora agrees.

I sigh. “If the porch is such a disaster, why would anyone want to see it? Aren’t the plants helping to hide it?”

“Well, everyone wants the porch behind it to look nice too,” Sutton says.

I think about all the porches on the houses along my street. They’re not only well-kept, but they’re also like little living rooms. There are chairs, sofas, tables, plants, lamps, and twinkle lights.

And people use their porches. They gather. They sit outside and call out to one another. They sit and have iced tea, lemonade, and sometimes something stronger. I’ve had all of the above on multiple porches along my street.

“They want to come over and sit and visit,” I say, before Nora or Sutton can say it.

Nora nods. “Yeah.”

I think about that. People stop by, hand me things, visit for a few minutes, but that’s it. Patty and Wilson are the only ones who stay and make themselves at home. It would be nice to sit down and get to know the rest of them.

I nod. “Got it.”

Nora looks almost proud of me. “And Declan is taking care of it.”

I think about that. Should I be annoyed? Offended? Declan just burst in here and started doing home renovations. Without asking me. He is literally taking my windows out, and he didn’t even mention it to me.

I take a deep breath. This protectiveness on Declan's part has been constant since he got to town. The shrimp, the otters, the splinter, now this.

It’s not that I’ve never been cared for. In fact, I’ve been cared for all my life.

I have a wonderful, loving family, a grandfather who always looked out for me, siblings who are supportive and who I feel are true friends, coaches and trainers who’ve always made my well-being a top priority.

So why do things with Declan feel different?

Because he doesn’t have to do it.

It seems so obvious.

Of course, my family cared for me, but they were biologically programmed to do so.

My trainers and coaches were literally paid to care for me.

All of my personal relationships are reciprocal. I care for them right back. I like to think that I’m just as supportive, loving, and encouraging to my friends and siblings as they are to me.